


Taste Of Happiness

by Pineapple_Strawberries_15



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: AU, Body Appreciation, Charles uses food to show love and happiness, Child Abuse, Depression, Hope, Love, M/M, Suicide, Trauma, War, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-07 17:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineapple_Strawberries_15/pseuds/Pineapple_Strawberries_15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Shaw is defeated, things for the First Class team become pretty peaceful, but Charles notices Erik is still troubled and it's primarily showing through his relationship with food. Charles decides to show Erik that food can bring him some happiness, as well as the people around them, and that it's not just for nourishment. Food is happiness, power, love!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Brief History of Food - Charles

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU where Charles is not crippled and Erik did not leave.

His heart thudded in his chest and his thighs burned- chafed from the fabric of his army greens. Dust billowed around him, fire was encased in ash, and it too burned. It burned his eyes, his nose, his face- his face was so warm and above all, his heart burned. There were people laying in the gravel, good people, honest and hardworking individuals. Screaming for his help, screaming and wheezing and sobbing over the broken- some were just broken and alone. He stared down at a young girl, solitary in her dying. Her upper lip was charred and ragged- her small body was badly burned and yet it found the will to move- her fingers reached out to him.  
She was staring at him, her thoughts were a string of words he could translate to 'kill me. Kill me. Oh mommy, mommy, I want. . . I'm sorry papa. I'm sorry. Kill me.' And so he did, his mind used to pulling the mental cord out and ending the suffering. Once the final flickers of thought died away, he ran. He ran until his body was so drenched in sweat he thought, 'I must be underwater.' The world around him was blurred and disfigured, not America. No. Not America. In America, they didn't bring the children out to the streets to burn with the soldiers. At least not anymore. No, this was something akin to mars. This was hell taking a rest on a once beautiful country. Bloody fucking draft. Bloody fucking war. Blood.  
“In 'ere! In 'ere!” screamed two men, one clearly American, and one clearly not. They stood slightly out of their foxhole and beckoned him to take refuge as quick as possible. He was too far from his peers, separated when bombs and shooting shook the plane. They were in that hole for what felt like days, unable to move for fear of being caught, or blown to bits. One day, a banged up jeep came rumbling past, then it backed up, and an old Korean man stared right at them. Right at these two “American,” soldiers, and a young Korean man who had taken refuge with them. He threw them warm bread and a canteen, then drove quickly away; the rumbling of his jeep mingling with the rumbling of war.  
The American soldier told Charles to call him “Max”, and the Korean man went by the name Jae. Jae didn't know much English, and Max's accent sounded as though he lived in a faintly Italian family. They were a mix, the lot of them; An English-American, an Italian-American, and a Korean, but still. . . they broke bread and smiled at each other; smiled for what had to have been the first time since the war started.  
-  
When Charles is finally sent back home, he finishes his studies and always keeps bread in the apartment. 

~  
Charles could recall few times in his childhood where hot chocolate and warm cookies couldn't mend an ailing heart. When his step-father was in a particular nasty mood, Charles, Raven, and Cain would sneak off to the kitchen in the middle of the night after everyone had quieted down and gone to bed. They would turn on the kettle and grab the chocolate mix, boil water, pour the mix into cups, and happily drink them until their bellies were warm and the lashings- verbal or. . .other- the day had contained were nothing more than a memory. They would then make cookies, dripping with chocolate chips, clean their mess, and go and hide under the table in the dining room. He could recall the taste and the pure feeling of childhood joy, and suddenly there was no need to cry or rant about their less than perfect parents, and no pain that this simplicity could not overcome. They had what they needed in each other, and the warmth of hot chocolate and cookies.  
-  
There comes a time in his life where cookies and hot chocolate can't help him or Raven with their problems, but it still brings some calm.

~  
He could recall, on a bright shiny day, walking into his fathers study and beaming at the man who stood before his desk, staring out at the vast Westchester land. The man's thoughts were murky and searching, full of things Charles couldn't fully comprehend, but his fathers mind had always been a comfort to him, until today. Today fathers head was full of something. . . something that made Charles feel sick. Then something clicked in his fathers hand, beside his temple, and the man's mind was no more than a stain on the carpet.  
The day of Brian Xavier's funeral was the day his grandmother, pudgy and happier than anyone on Sharon Xavier's side of the family could ever be. He stood before his fathers corpse, noting the thin features and the hat covering the head wound, when his Grandmother suddenly whispered beside him- staring into his fathers- her son's- casket, “Never underestimate the power food has over people.” One of her wrinkled hands rested on his shoulder, “It has the power to make people weak, fearful, to kill. . . but it also has the power to fill a person with love, hope, strength, and life. Your father. . . it is a pity. He had all this money and power, but he was so empty.” She pushed a thick book of recipes into his hand and walked away.  
-  
Sharon later locked the book away in her curio cabinet.

~  
As an infant, he recalled the warm milk from his mothers breasts and the gentle soothing words, which had yet to hold meaning, wash over him.  
-  
As he grows, she grows distant.

\--  
Food has such power. Such. . . invincible power, in the world and over it's inhabitants. It doesn't matter if you're a cat, an insect, a fish, a human, or a mutant- it's power will ravage you and caress you until the day you die.  
-  
End Part 1  
-


	2. Erik Remembers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik remembers food.

 

Erik couldn't remember the way his mothers home made soup tasted.

Erik couldn't remember what his fathers marinated lamb tasted like.

Erik couldn't remember what his grandparents pastries tasted like.

Erik could remember larvae crawling in his porridge at the camps.

Erik could remember the shaking forms of starved individuals.

Erik could remember how they looked like rags pushed into a corner.

Erik could remember the chocolate offered to him by Shaw.

Erik could remember the taste of ash in his food the first meal after his mothers death.

Erik could remember the food thrown at him in Shaw's torture chamber.

Erik could remember the taste of ash and mold and stale bread.

Erik could remember the day taste held no meaning.

Erik could remember the days of starvation when he left Shaw.

Erik could remember eating for survival.

Erik could remember eating for nourishment.

Erik could remember eating because everyone else was.

Erik now eats because he probably should.

Erik doesn't much care about food anymore.

 

-

End Part 2

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to do Erik's experience with food in the same manner as I did Charles. He seemed more like the dry and blunt type, so I did it that way. I don't normally write that way, but it seemed to fit.


	3. Take A Bite For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles takes notice of Erik's disdain for food and eating, and tries to remedy it by cooking and enjoying eating himself, coaxing Erik along the way. A few pounds are worth it, if he can make Erik a happy eater.

Charles is staring at Erik pretty obviously during dinner, his intense blue eyes driving holes through the others mind without even the use of telepathy. It's almost laughable, but Charles isn't even smiling as he does this, this isn't a happy or sex driven stare. Erik shifts his gaze from the food he's picking at and projects, 'something wrong?' He receives no reply from his lover though, and twists his thin fingers around his fork once more, barely tasting whatever he puts into his mouth- it tastes like ash.

It's odd how different Erik's relationship to food is when compared with Erik's. Charles happens to love food, feeling it brought some sort of hope during the hard times of his life; Erik seems to think food has only brought more misery through his hard times. It brought no hope for survival, it was just a necessity, if food didn't have taste then he'd be just as indifferent to it as he is to eating it when it does have an actual taste.   
After dinner, Erik manages to catch Charles in the study in front of the chess set. He sits opposite the other man, “what did I do now?” The telepath stares back, looking at his lovers too lean frame and shadowed eyes. Shaw's death had only avenged his mother and the killing of his people, but the haunting's from his past were still running around and it seemed to be taking it's toll on the man. Charles' own thin form leaned forward to grab his pieces from the chess board, straightening them out, “Nothing. I just have some things on my mind.” 

Erik didn't buy it, “you looked ready to beat me with my dinner plate, or give me a serious mental scolding.” A grin formed on his lips, so he wasn't taking Charles' dinner stare down too seriously, “Next time I'll stare at Sean, dear. He squirms more.”   
-  
That night Charles pried open his mothers bedroom door, coughing from the dust, and then broke open her curio cabinet. He stared at the contents of the cabinet, rifling through some of the junk his mother had piled in there, then at the back under a mess of papers, he found it. He pulled a dusty tomb of a book out and blew the dust off of it. He had a plan.  
~  
Breakfast was probably one of the most interesting meals Erik had in a while. They had walked into the dining room to discover they actually didn't have to fight over who was making breakfast for once, the table already had food on it. In the center of the table there was home made pancakes, a breakfast casserole, juice, and sausage. Even more surprising was when Charles burst from the kitchen entrance, having practically kicked the door open, carrying a tray of toast. 

The short brunette plopped the tray on the table, “dig in. Please, I made it just for all of you.” He was smiling and his eyes were practically glowing and. . . nobody trusted this. For some reason everyone had gotten it into their heads that Charles would be the worst cook in the world, and had never bothered demanding he cook. It was rather ridiculous, but why would a rich, fresh out of college, man like Charles need to cook? There were no maids at Westchester, or cooks, the team did the cooking, each day someone taking over the duty- when Charles asked to do it they just laughed. 

“Charles. . . are you alright?” Raven asked warily, remembering how cooking in their childhood usually meant Charles was grasping for some hope, though this time it wasn't just cookies, it was a full blown meal! Her heart was actually thundering in her chest, she looked him over, he did look a bit pale. “Yes Raven, I'm fine.” He brandished his grandmothers cook book, “I found my grandmothers cook book and decided I'd cook through every recipe in the book each day. . .” his words died off and he stared at the book, lips thinning, “it's the most important book I own.” 

Honestly, when Charles looks so sentimental and haunted, nobody could help sitting down and digging in. Erik eyed his lover worriedly and sat down, putting a little bit of food on his own plate. Charles dug into the meal enthusiastically, practically beaming as he ate. “Try some of the casserole, Erik?” He held out a fork-full, hand underneath in case any of the food dropped. Erik smiled and leaned forward, tasting the morsel, it was delicious. Something warm crawled through his chest, but he figured it was the start of heartburn.   
-  
That night he holds Charles and presses his lips to the others soft hair, staring at the moonlight shining dimly through the gap in the curtains. The room is full with the swell of content silence. Charles is dozing cozily, but feels cold; Erik moves the blanket further around them, his fingers wrap around the others wrist as if it were a butterflies fragile wing- he wondered when his lover had gotten so small, wondering if something may be wrong; Erik felt his heart drop into his stomach.   
~  
The worry that tended to settle like dust on Erik's brain at night floated away in the morning, and the following days, as Charles seemed to be eating and snacking and generally remaining in good spirits. It was odd, the other seemed to have something in his mouth and a blissful look on his face whenever Erik entered a room, and if he didn't he'd eventually find something to nibble on. “Tapeworm, Charles?” Alex joked one day, the telepath just laughed and waved the other off, Erik tripped him with the metal leg of a chair later on. 

The metal manipulator didn't know why, but he was oddly protective of this new eating style of Charles'. He'd always thought Charles looked too pale, too stressed, despite the others optimism; before Charles found his grandmothers cookbook, Erik even thought the other was looking a little too thin. His worry was driving him into this 'make sure Charles remains happy at all costs,' mode, that left Erik thinking about his lover more often than not. 

They were often separated by their different duties on the team, but their minds would meet at dinner, a dinner Charles probably cooked and Erik couldn't pick at, he couldn't stand the thought of the look on Charles' face if he denied his cooking and his grandmothers recipe. So he ate a little bit of everything his blue eyed lover made, sometimes actually enjoying it when his mind wasn't traveling back to something morbid, but through the morbidity. . . there was Charles. Charles grinning, mouth closed, and food plumping his cheeks slightly. . . Erik's heart pounded and his stomach roiled. 

After a while, Erik noticed more change in his telepath. One night, while the other slept in his arms, Erik behind Charles, spooning, he noticed his lovers hips were curved outward more than they used to. The change wasn't really noticeable, but Erik knew Charles' body, and his hips weren't usually this wide. There were other changes too, for instance, his lover seemed softer around the waist, and his thighs were more spread out; Charles' cheeks were a bit softer, the hollow that Erik usually saw no longer prominent, but the others butt had. He didn't think much of it, he was thankful for a little weight on Charles, it made the other look more alive.   
~   
Erik should have expected something was going on, should have been as concerned about Charles' change as Raven was, but he didn't see an issue- at least Charles was eating. “Want some dessert, love? Made it myself, just for you.” Charles smiled at Erik, who was seated in his chair that night in the study by the fire. The German mutant turned his head to the man, watching as his lover's flared hips swayed slightly as he walked over to him, though not intentionally, Charles' thighs were rubbing together and causing it- not that Erik was complaining at the sight. 

“Sorry Charles, just don't really feel like eating dessert. You can go ahead though,” he smiled, knowing his lover was sure to make another dessert tomorrow anyway. The telepath smiled and sat on Erik's lap, his bottom now taking up most of it. He munched away happily at the dessert, Erik watching him eat with a light heart, the moment was perfect. Erik pressed a kiss to Charles' temple.   
~  
As months went by, Charles' weight was becoming more noticeable. His hips seemed to flare out, his bottom was round and wide, his stomach looked soft and chubby, he had thunder thighs, and his face had rounded. The man looked rather chubby all over, and Erik felt his heart lighten as time went on. His lover snacked in his presence more often than not, and loved to cook and make others happy with his cooking. There was a sort of contented lull over the house. So long as Charles was happy, Erik was happy. And so long as Erik was eating and getting closer to noticing food could bring happiness, Charles was almost happy.   
-  
End part 3  
-


	4. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven isn't happy.  
> Raven doesn't think Charles is either.  
> Erik doesn't either, so he isn't.  
> Everyone has a big misunderstanding and failure to communicate. 
> 
> This chapter might make you want to pull out your hair.

 

It took some time, but eventually Raven was not happy. Raven was not happy because she didn't believe Charles was happy. She sat across from Erik in the living-room, both watching Charles in his armchair rambling to someone in genetics-speak on the phone. The man had moved out of chubby by now. His stomach rested chushily over his lap and over his hips, his hips were the widest part of him, his bottom seemed to be the cushiest, and though his face didn't portray the rest of his weight, it too was rounded. The chair sank in and had little room to spare with Charles on it. At first, Erik had brushed off everyone’s comments and had defended Charles from rude remarks, but now Raven was showing concern, because Charles was downright fat. He was still quite handsome, still quite healthy, but Erik understood why Raven was concerned.

 

It wasn't like Charles to let himself go, he had never been fat, in fact more often than not he had been far too skinny; Raven thought that if Charles was suddenly gaining weight so steadily, something was wrong. They watched their favorite person hang up the phone and beam at them before getting up, his bottom weighing him down some, and left the room to deal with some paperwork in his office. When Charles was out of earshot, and telepathy eavesdropping shot, Raven snapped her head to Erik, “does he seem alright to you?”

 

Erik was silent for a moment, and bit his thumb, no. . . no, something wasn't right with Charles. It was suddenly easy to disregard the happiness eating and food seemed to give Charles, because his lover was eating to the point he shouldn't be as happy as he was, and people didn't normally do that. Normally when someone was acting like Charles, they were trying to make themselves happy, using food as a substitute. He wanted Charles to be happy, content, healthy. . . but was his lover all that if the only thing Erik saw him smiling over was food? Was Charles eating to dispel some unhappiness? Could Charles; beautiful, kind, wonderful, Charles. . . be happy with his new body- when most people wouldn't be? Was Erik not making Charles happy? Was Charles depressed? _Did Charles care more about food than him?_  All these things were rattling through Erik's head, and it sent a pain through his chest.

-

That night it was Sean and Alex's turn to make dinner. They accidentally set Grandma Xaviers cookbook on fire.

-

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” Sean exclaimed, blowing at the book and the several other things they had lit on fire, trying to get them to stop burning! The smoke detectors screeched, Erik and Charles pushed their way into the kitchen, “what the hell are you doing!?” Erik growled, grabbing a cup of water and pouring it over-top the flaming items. Raven and Hank joined them, “Oh, great, they decided to take us all out with fire.” Murmured the blue woman, then she spotted the recipe book, she quickly looked to Charles who had a blank look on his face.

 

“Damn it, I mean. . . shit, Charles. I'm sorry.” Sean quickly said, but the proffessor was shaking his head, “everyone’s okay.” Erik nodded, “yes. Looks like no harm was done. Just some burnt food, pot holders, and the book. I think you know most of the recipes by heart now anyway Charles, might be able to salvage a few.” He was smiling, but Charles was not, “It's burned right through,” the heavier man snapped, “it was written in ink anyway, the water would have made it all run.” He snatched the book away and slammed it into the trash, “clean this mess up you two, immediately. We'll order in tonight.”

 

Charles left into the dining room, Erik hot on his tail, “what was that?” the metal manipulator demanded, “you're mad about the book? You're being ridiculous. It's just recipes, it's just food. Whatever is wrong with you, that book won't help you.” That's when Charles whirled on him, “that was the last thing my grandmother entrusted me with. The last thing I was given from her. I think I have a right to be upset, Erik.” Erik shook his head though, “be that as it may, you have been acting differently since you found it. You have plenty of things from your family, look at this house, Charles! You were fine before you found that book, you'll be fine now.”

 

The others were in the kitchen, trying not to eavesdrop, but it was difficult. “Of course I'll be fine, that isn't the point. The point was, it was precious to me, and it was something I enjoyed. . . I- I just, how can you not understand that?” - “Maybe because I didn't have as perfect a life as you, so free of hardship, Charles! Sue me! It was a recipe book, it's binding is still there, be happy with that!” Charles slapped Erik, the others face burned from it, but he didn't move, just stared at his lover- who had never condoned violence before.

 

“The binding wasn't the power. You're acting as though I have no right to be upset over this, but I do. That was the last thing from my family I was given out of love- I remember. . .” he shook his head, eyes watering, “Damn it Erik. Damn it. She told me that food had power; it had the power to give hope, to heal. . . bring love, strength. . . life. Erik, please understand. I just. . . that book gave me so much, I wanted to give everyone here just as much.” He shook his head, almost in a defeated manner.

 

“Food is for nourishment, Charles. What kind of hope could it have possibly given you? It may taste good, it may make you feel good for a little while, but can you honestly say it's made you feel good now?” Erik asked, “you're overweight, you're more happy eating than you are any other time. . . I didn't think this was a problem, but. . . food hasn't brought you any of the things your grandmother told you it would. Charles, you need to understand, food isn't the answer to everything.”

 

Charles was standing there, brow furrowed, nodding, “maybe you're right.” And he started walking away, “Charles?” Erik sighed, but the plump man didn't stop walking until he was in his own room, door locked. He wondered if Erik was right, but his memories contradicted what Erik thought. He could remember the happiness and strength and hope eating something as simple as bread had given him, how hot coco and cookies could soothe the pain of a beating and verbal abuse, how warm his mothers own milk had made him feel, how chicken noodle soup when sick made him feel so much better; how a recipe book gave him untold power and hope- hope for love and hope for the happiness of the ones he loved.

 

Now. . . now his heart felt as heavy as the rest of him.

His hope was gone.  

-  
End Part 4  
-


	5. Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone needs to calm down, talk things out, and try and understand. Plus, you can't judge a book by it's fancy cover.

 Erik didn't bother Charles that night, instead he kept repeating what had happened in his head. At first he was angry and didn't understand Charles, but he also knew some of the things he said was wrong. His lover hadn't left his room in days, and any time someone would try and enter, they would be mentally coaxed into leaving. Charles didn't want to see anyone and was making sure everyone stayed away. The house seemed quieter, without Charles around to hum and rustle papers and sing out of key; without Charles to talk up a genetic storm, without Charles' cooking. He didn't think he'd miss the cooking, neither did Raven, but something just didn't seem right- the mansion felt cold.

Erik found the meals without his lover around monotonous- gray. Erik ran a hand over his face, he groaned, seated at the dining table, 'what am I missing?' he asked, 'I want to understand.' That night, he finally got his chance to. He couldn't sleep, and was wallowing in guilt in the kitchen, nursing a beer, when his lover shuffled into the room. The man's hair was a mess and his plump form looked plumper in a pair of blue and white stripped pajamas, Erik's heart melted and his body reacted, but he couldn't bare to meet Charles' eyes.

 

The telepath took down two mugs from the cabinets, shirt raising to show his soft underbelly, Erik watched with a flush. Damn, the man was adorable. Charles started the kettle in silence, waiting for it to heat; when it did he poured something into the mugs, then poured the hot water, and gave one to Erik. The metal manipulator raised an eyebrow, but took a sip, “hot chocolate,” he said in surprise, “yeah. When Raven, Cain and I were kids, we would make it to make ourselves feel warm- and the taste would make us happy. It was a simple pleasure.” Charles didn't often mention Cain, but when he did Erik noticed the other got a grave look on his face, but his lover didn't bring up anything unless Erik asked.

 

“. . .Charles, I'm sorry.” Erik sighed, taking the telepaths hand in his own, “but I don't think I understand everything that happened. I was out of line.” His lover nodded, a smile forming, “Erik, you were right about some things. . . Food doesn't solve everything, for instance, but I wanted you to understand- food gives hope and happiness and love.” Now that was something Erik couldn't agree with, “Charles, I just. . . I don't agree.” It seemed their relationship had a lost of disagreeable moments, thankfully this one seemed less likely to cause a war or turn Erik into a terrorist. “I need you to help me understand. Are you depressed. . . is food really helping?”

 

Charles shook his head, “Erik. . . I was never depressed.” He smiled slowly, “I'm overweight, but I'm healthy, I have a family, I have you; I'm happy, really happy. Food also makes me happy, you don't agree with my thoughts on food, but I wasn't eating entirely for myself- I saw how it made you feel too.” He paused and took a sip of his hot chocolate in contentment, he gave a hum and closed his eyes- suddenly Erik had an images in his head, of war. He'd seen war from the camps, but this was not his war. He saw Charles; ragged and tired, sweaty, hungry, thinner than he'd ever seen him and more miserable than he ever should have been. He saw Charles running and he saw the dead, the bombs, and he saw him with two others in a hole- starving and hiding. Then there was bread.

 

“I'm afraid I don't understand. You didn't starve, nourishment, as I've said.” Erik's brow was furrowed, but Charles just smiled, “yes. We needed that bread, but just like this hot chocolate, it brought us hope. After we ate some of that bread, we saved some in our pockets and were able to keep enough hope till our next meal- we did eventually get back to an American base without being blown up. Hope, strength, and life.” A few minutes passed in silence, Erik chewing on this information, and suddenly, he understood.

 

Erik could remember the feeling he got when he tasted his mothers home made soup.

Erik could remember the feeling he got when he tasted his fathers marinated lamb.

Erik could remember the feeling he got when he tasted his grandparents pastries.

 

He couldn't remember the taste, but he could recall. . . happiness, and sometimes he recalled he didn't always appreciate the meals, but they never made him unhappy. He understood now, “you tricky little. . .” he stared at Charles, one eyebrow raised, “you were doing all this. . . to make me understand?” He looked over the other mans rounder form, heat in his own belly, and recalled the hope on the face of those back in the camps- when they were able to smuggle chocolate. He understood now. He got it, what Charles was trying to get into him all along.

 

Erik sipped his coco and sighed in warm contentment.

-

 

That night Erik wrapped his arms around Charles, which was a little more difficult than it had originally been, but no less comfortable, and let his hands roam on the soft expanse of his lovers belly- he could feel Charles' large bottom pressed against his member, and it throbbed in lust- he pressed a kiss to Charles' neck. This. This he could appreciate.  

 

-

End Part 5

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one more chapter after this, two if I'm feeling the love.   
> (They will be posted later because it is 3:30am and I need sleep.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! Takes place a few years after chapter five.

 “Everything looks good,” murmured Hank, a hint of disbelief in his voice as he finished looking Charles over. Charles was perhaps the healthiest overweight person on the planet, capable of things others wished they were. He'd just given the telepath a physical of sorts, testing his endurance on a treadmill- which was impeccable, though not as fast since Charles' thighs rubbed together and his footsteps were heavier. There was absolutely no breathing problems, the man hadn't even gotten winded! No heart issues, no illnesses, nothing. Absolutely nothing. In fact, Charles was just as healthy, if not healthier, than he had been when they first met! Hank chalked it up to the fact Charles was a mutant.

 

“Wonderful!” The blue eyed man grinned, chubby cheeks rosy, he put back on his shirt and tugged his pants back up, having taken them off for the full examination that Hank now insisted doing monthly. “Have a good day, my friend. Don't stay in the lab too much!” And with that, he was practically skipping away, as he should be, after all- today marked the Fifth anniversary of the day Erik and Charles got together- a day Raven made sure everyone knew about, thankfully it was so people would absolutely **leave them alone that night**!

 

“Lucky fellows,” Hank sighed, a bit envious of them, any sane person would be. Erik would look at Charles in an indescribable way, but the emotions in his eyes told them it was with the utmost respect and love- and so much more. They respectfully refused pet-names for one another, and weren't prone to excessive public displays of affection- holding hands and sitting comfortably close was enough when they were among others, and they would happily debate and fight whenever they felt like it. This relationship remained a steady component in everyone’s lives, and despite the stresses of running a school and helping so many students, they never fell off the track, though they weren't perfect- they were right for one another in many ways.

 

“Charles,” drawled Erik, leaning against the wall outside the lab as his lover exited, his eyebrows raised in questioning concern, but his lover told him nothing as he rested a hand against his forearm. The metal manipulator dropped his arms from their crossed positions, “did it go well?” Erik would be lying if he said Charles weight didn't concern him, it did, and he knew that because Charles was a mutant he wasn't experiencing any negative effects from the weight, but he couldn't help the dreary thought that one day his lover would experience a problem. It was a valid concern, no matter what. “Yes, as always.”

 

They walked the halls slowly, “good,” the tall- lean man said earnestly, wrapping an arm around the others shoulders. They remained in companionable silence before having to depart to see to their classes. The day would pass far too slow for the two, nothing amiss beside Raven's usual trickiness. She had been wandering around all day with a big grin on her face, as if she were plotting something sinister. . . Charles found out what it was that night.

 

“Absolutely **not**!” He growled.

“Why?” Raven whined back, “he'll be so turned on!”

“How would seeing this,” he gestured at his body, “in. . . in that!” he pointed at a tight black outfit on the bed, “turn him on!?”

Raven rolled her eyes, “Erik adores your body, we hear his adoration frequently in the middle of the night when we're outside your door with glass cups pressed against it. We know.”

“I'm still not wearing it.”

 

-

“Interesting pant choice, Charles.” Erik was smiling at him from the soft couch in the study- their usual place, he bit his fist a little- laughing. Charles glared at him, “Raven took all my clothes and nobody here has my size.” He was wearing tight black leather pants, a tight red shirt of some random stretchy material, and a dark jacket- looking every bit like he would burst from them at any second. “She seemed to have the ridiculous idea that you would be aroused with me in this outfit.” It was at that moment Erik started shaking, trying to hold in his laughter. It wasn't that the clothing didn't arouse him, it's just. . . Seeing his lover in leather pants- no matter the size- would be humorous to him. Skanky leather just didn't suit the cardigan wearing professor.

 

The telepath's face turned red, eyes shooting daggers at his lover, so he promptly plopped himself into Erik's lap. “Oomph~” the metal manipulator deserved whatever pain his lap had to endure, at least Charles thought so, but only received a chuckle for his efforts to crush the other. Erik brought his arms around the others soft waist and rested his forehead against Charles' arm, “now, now. . . no need to get worked up. You look wonderful, though I can't imagine you're comfortable in those pants.” He received an indignant look from the other, “well of course not! Bloody hell, they are tight! The point is to get me out of them.” He grinned, “Good luck with that after dinner. I won't be helping you now.”

 

Erik rolled his eyes, “I'm sure it won't be that difficult. Now,” He pointed to the coffee table, “you can pour the wine since I can't get up.” The telepath smiled cheekily, “can't carry me, muscles?” Charles leaned over and grabbed the wine glasses from the table, large bottom and wide hips giving Erik absolutely no lap room, the pressure though. . . that was doing sinful things to his body- he wanted to do sinful things to Charles. “Dirty, dirty thoughts.” He handed his lover a glass and scooted off his lover, onto the couch where his weight dipped it enough so Erik would have to lean against him.

 

They enjoyed the wine, bantering back and forth beside one another- they were friends after all, before they were lovers, but eventually things went quiet. They hadn't run out of things to talk about, they never would; the silence wasn't stifling, it was inquiring. Charles rested his head against Erik's broad shoulder and rolled his blue eyes back to look at Erik, Erik's own eyes glanced his way, head turning down towards him. Charles noted his lover seemed softer these days too, not as soft as him obviously, but more comfortable. Since Erik himself had found hope and happiness with food, he seemed more content with his life. It was nice to see his usually hardened friend and lover like this, and he knew that if Erik ever needed to, he would still be able to take down anyone he wanted.

 

“Are you content with your life here, Erik?” Asked the telepath, Erik smiled, “I'd say so. . . yes. It's vastly different from my life as an assassin, and I'm still learning to cope, but for the most part I am content.” He ran his hand on Charles' leather bound thigh, “are you?” The telepath took a moment to think of the question himself, not expecting Erik to ask it back, and shook his head. “Not all the time, but when I'm with you, yes. There are times I wish I could do more, help more, give more- times I feel very useless and pitiful, times I remember old times- but I think for the most part. . . I'm alright. Content with you.”

 

The metal manipulator snorted, “you run a school for mutants, barely charging their parents more than public schools, taking in anyone in who's willing, and even teach the students and help cook the meals and clean- not to mention you still do work in genetics. I'd say you do plenty daily.” The brunette sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “yes, but I could always do more.” Erik shook his head, “and people say I'm unbalanced.” - “What?” - “Oh, nothing Charles. I just love you.” - “I love you too, Erik.” Silence befell them again and Erik let his chin rest atop Charles' head. They really didn't need to say much else.

 

-

10 minutes later

-

 

The telepath blinked, “oh, I almost forgot. I made cake.”

“How could you forget that? Why are we still sitting here then?” The metal manipulator stood up and offered his lover his hand, “shall we, dear?” The other took his hand and was pulled up with a slight grunt on both parts and then they linked arms- heading for the kitchens where they each had a slice of cake, and it was _not simply a taste of happiness, they were happy_.  

 

-

The End

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheese and fluff, fluffy cheese. Oh gosh. I'm sorry. Bye.


End file.
